


One of Life's Persistent Questions

by havisham



Category: A Prairie Home Companion, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Answers None of The Questions It Raises, Ficlet, Gen, Private Investigators, The Perils of a Liberal Arts Education, What Questions?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:03:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a place like Night Vale  -- what's a guy like me to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of Life's Persistent Questions

**Author's Note:**

> For the Three Sentence Ficathon that went ... longer than three sentences.

It was a dark night in a small desert community that had more secrets than it knew what to do with -- and one man had been lured away from the delightful prospect of winter in Minnesota by a midnight phone-call that alternatively cajoled and threatened him to come to Night Vale -- _or else._

" _Or else_ what?" Guy asked, pretty reasonably, he thought.

"Nothing," the voice replied, sounding a little wounded. "There's just this missing girl -- she's only thirteen years old and reading _far_ above her grade-level -- you care about readers, don't you, Mr. Noir? I know that you were an English major."

"Maybe," Guy said warily. "But that was a long time ago. Not much work for former English majors now, see? With the economy being the way it is." 

"Of course," the voice said soothingly. "We here at StrexCorp Synernists Inc., understand all about the importance of working -- and we're willing to compensate you generously for your trouble -- " and then went on to name a price that made Guy's head spin. With that kind of money he could make the rent -- not just for this month, but for all the possible months until the end of time -- or what was left of this decade, anyway. 

"How do I get there?" Guy asked. He couldn't find Night Vale on any map, and his computer refused to operate after he had pecked in the name into Google. 

"Just get into your car and drive," the voice advised and he had, and so here he was. 

He had kept the radio on while driving -- through miles of static -- until another voice came on, clear as a bell, warm and inviting. "A private investigator came into town today, a rumpled-looking individual of perhaps Scandinavian origin. He is not as handsome as our last important visitor, but we can't win them all, now can we, listeners?"


End file.
